


Siris of Tevinter

by Valadilen



Series: Siris the Elf [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Action, Action/Adventure, Adventure, Alternate Universe, Blood Mages (Dragon Age), Circle of Magi, Crestwood (Dragon Age), Elf Culture & Customs, Escaped slave, Ferelden (Dragon Age), Former Slave, Free Marches (Dragon Age), Kirkwall (Dragon Age), Lake Calenhad (Dragon Age), Mages, Mages (Dragon Age), Magisters, Original Character(s), Ostwick (Dragon Age), Ostwick Circle (Dragon Age), Slavery, Storm Coast (Dragon Age), Templars, Templars (Dragon Age), Tevinter Culture and Customs, Waking Sea (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:41:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 21,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21962284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valadilen/pseuds/Valadilen
Summary: During a deadly attack in the outskirts of the Free Marches, Darkspawns, ironically, break free the elven Tevinter slave going by the name of Siris. The young woman doesn't know what to do with her life. She decides to cease the opportunity to explore the world. But first, she needs to investigate the strange circonstances of her survival; which might prove to be more difficult than expected.
Series: Siris the Elf [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1700083
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	1. A Rough Start

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Siris of Tevinter](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/544744) by Valadilen [same author]. 



That was it.  
She was screwed.  
Dead.  
Done.  
Doomed.

  
A horde of darkspawn attacked, killed almost everyone. The noble was dead. She was no better. She had been thrown against a rock, then fell in the road's gutter. And one of the darkspawn with pointy ears vomit his guts on her, as a Warden reduce him to shreds. The human did not see tiny elf suffering in the gutter. The heat of the battle was too great!

  
At that moment, Siris could not move. Her body was plagued by a terrible corruption, pain froze her limbs. She couldn't cry or scream. Helpless. Desperate. Look at me! I'm here! She wanted to shout: no voice, no noise. Just silent; slow, painful death. Her bones broke and mended back. She was burning, freezing, sinking in a sea of acid; salt on wounds and ashes in her lungs. Her brain was too big or was her skull too small? Her eyes were ready to explode! Siris felt her insides being tore upside down. The excruciating suffering went on and on, for what seemed to be forever. Suddenly, something inside her cracked.

  
Silence.  
Peace.  
Calm.  
Rest.

  
No breath. Body sinking in the earth yet remaining still as stone. No Pain. She was suffering, no more. Her eyes slowly closed, she felt like falling asleep. But was she asleep? She could not know.  
As the Grey Wardens burnt the bodies, they did not notice her: they left, unaware of her terrible fate.  
It was morning when they were attacked, but when Siris opened her eyes again, it was pitch black. She stood up, wondering, questioning. What happened? No pain, no suffering. The embers on the burnt bodies proved only of the time that had passed, not what she felt and saw. Those were like part of a dream.

  
The moon was absent, but the stars were high and gorgeous. Thousands of little lights were looking at the world; only they had witnessed the event of the road.

  
Why was Siris feeling so light? She looked at herself. Nothing worth noting, beside the blood tainting what used to be some sort of clothing. Her master never bothered giving real clothes to his slaves; he would, in fact, enjoy seeing them in rags, sacks initially meant for potatoes or, in worst cases, completely naked. Siris had the luxury to wear a sack for potatoes: she wasn't pretty enough to be naked.

  
Wait.

  
If the master and all his kin got killed that would mean… no. Surely there were laws to prevent a slave being free because of his or her master’s death…

  
Wait a minute! She was in the middle of nowhere, outside of Tevinter; no witnesses. Why should she care for laws that worked against her interests? New thoughts, new thinking. She was not used to think for herself. Was it safe? could she think for herself?

  
The carriage was heading to the Free Marches, before the attack. Her master wanted to help his magister friend with a "slave problem" in a city named "Kirkwall". The elf in question ran away during a qunari attack; at least that was what Siris had heard. This story did not matter; unless Siris wanted to keep a newly found freedom: she needed to stay away from places where people might recognize her. Yet, she knew nothing of the land accepted for its neighbor “Free Marches” and the city in it “Kirkwall”. Then again… As far as everyone was concerned: she died with the master.

  
With this in mind, logically, she was completely and undeniably free!  
Nevertheless, Siris didn't look the part of a “free elf”… not that she knew what a free elven woman looks like. She saw pictures of the infamous dalish, but they were far from flattering. The woman inspected her body. She looked like a blood-covered slave. Her appearance was screaming "MURDEROUS ELVEN SLAVE ON THE RUN!". That will be what people think if they ever saw her like this. She could imagine the gossip already: a slave murdering her master's entire family to be free; and continuing her bloodthirsty journey to revenge! Siris did not care for revenge: survival came first! She wanted a quiet life. Not serving, not being served. But this was her goal, she couldn't reach it looking like this. She could not decently go on a journey for freedom in these rags, and certainly not covered in blood.

  
Blood.

Darkspawn blood. She was sure it was darkspawn blood all other her body. There was no way she wasn't corrupted. Will she have turn into one of these monsters? Will she die? What about the pain? Where did it go? Was it normal to feel nothing after such excruciating suffering?  
"Stop thinking!" She cried. "Focus. Clean first; questions later."

The carriage was still there. The Wardens took the food, but the rest was still there: among them the master's daughters clothes. Siris considered them for a minute but taking them would be wrong. Not because she was taking things from the dead: because humans were larger than elves, and these girls were huge. In comparison, the elven woman was as large as a needle. No dresses would fit her properly. The young elf looked around; there was a woman in the master's personal guard, wasn't there? She looked in the guards' supplies cart. The armor burnt with the guardswoman, but she did not wear all her clothes during the attack, did she?

" _Ma serannas…_ " Siris muttered as she found women clothing. "Thank you, whoever might be watching over me…"  
Was it the Maker? Andraste? Fen'Harel or Mythal, perhaps? Siris did not know, nor did she care: she was alive and had something decent to put on her back. But before doing that, she needed to clean up. She recalled a river they crossed before the attack, not far from here. However, if she had to go there, she had to take everything she could, here. There was no way she was going back to this dreadful place.

In the carriage and cart, she found pieces of leather armor: not much, just greaves, gauntlets and a pauldron. She took a belt to which she attached a carved dagger. In a shoulder bag, the young elf put the clothes, pieces of torn up clothing, jewels she could sell later and a small pouch of gold. It was just enough to by a loath of bread.

  
Then she ran to the river. It was dark, and no one was around. So, she went under the bridge, hide her things, took off what was supposed to be cloths, and went into the water.  
" _Kaffas!_ " She cried.

  
It was freezing cold! But being covered in blood was not an option.

  
As Siris rubbed her body with the cold water; she comforted herself by thinking it was not as bad as getting her inside torn up by the Corruption. This thought was not as helpful as the woman thought it would be.

  
Corruption… Now that was a concern. What was she supposed to do now? She took everything she could from the carts, but will she need all of this? Will she turn or will she die before ever hoping to reach a village or a settlement? She tried to assess how she was feeling. No pain. No weird sensations. No bad thoughts. No voices. If she recalled right, those were the signs of the Blight sickness. Perhaps she could look for Grey Wardens to be sure. She did not trust them one bit, but they could tell her what she needed to know. Surely it was better to be put down like an animal rather than getting people sick and start a new Blight. That was it then. She was going to look for Grey Wardens. They went towards the Free Marches if her memory served her well. Perhaps it wasn't too late to pick up their trail?  
Siris put her clothes on. Underwear were strange: she never wore any before. It was comfortable, though. The pants were oddities too, and so was the white shirt. However, they made her feel much safer than before, less exposed. She did not bother with putting the armor on: she was no warrior. Protection or not, if she was going to be attacked, running would be the safest option. Running is more efficient when one is not burden with leather.  
She had no map, only her memories and the stars. It will have to suffice.  
As she took her first steps towards the Free Marches, Siris realized she was taking her first steps as a free elf.


	2. Marel's Alienage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After taking everything useful from the carts and making herself look decent, Siris goes towards the Free Marches. Her objectif is simple: finding the Grey Wardens, discovering if she's sick with the Blight, and act accordingly.

The situation was quite embarrassing.

After a night-long and a whole morning of travel, Siris finally arrived in a small town with a watchtower, a Chantry and many merchants. No one was in the fields: did the wardens tell the people about the darkspawns in the region? It was possible. But what put Siris in a delicate position were not the darkspawns. Indeed, since the beginning she assumed she was still in Tevinter. The things is: she was not. It wasn't like her master would tell any of his slaves about their exact location; but that was really embarrassing. At a point, Siris thought her Master had no freaking idea where he was.

The guard at the city's gate smiles awkwardly as he broke the news. Not only she was in the Free Marches, but in a small town called Marel. Was she on lyrium or something? At any case, she told him she was looking for supplies and information about the Wardens. Since these reasons were no cause of concern, the human let her in; not before telling her: "don't cause trouble, elf."

So, Siris made her first steps in a city as a free elf. She had to admit it felt quite nice. Although she was in a Free Marches' town, without a master to decide for her what to do; thus had no idea of what to do, where to go and how to act. She never expected freedom to be so… confusing. But nature took the decision for her when her stomach grumbled like there was no tomorrow. Food. The girl needed food. But what to eat? The merchants were selling many different things that Siris had no idea existed. Although she never had any possessions, she knew that to get food, she needed money. She had the gold and the jewels from her dead master and his family. But all of that was from Tevinter. No Marcher would want that. Besides, from the suspicious looks she was receiving, maybe an elf, woman, stranger, with so much fortune on herself was a bit too obvious. People might get the wrong ideas, and Siris wanted to avoid problems as much as possible.

Also, she needed to get information about the Wardens. They had more than a day ahead of her… And now she knew she was already in the Free Marches, the Wardens could have gone in any directions. The question for now was how to get money to buy food? And who would buy her things? The answer was quick.

"Knife-ears to the alienage!" A man shouted, although not to Siris.

"But I work here!" The elf replied. "The alienage is faraway and I don't have time to go there, buy my meal and come back!"

"Your problem: not mine!"

"Humans! All the same!"

Siris hasted her steps to meet up with the elven man.

"This man doesn't want you to buy things at his store?" She asked.

"Of course not, I'm a "knife-ear". And he won't sell you anything either." He said before pausing, looking at Siris carefully. “Your accent… are you from Tevinter?"

"Is it that obvious?"

"In these parts, yes. We watch out for slavers. Come! I'll show you around. Elves must help each other."

The man's name was Geron and used to live in Denerim, Ferelden, in the South. But the last Blight made him seek out a new home for his family. It turned out to be another alienage in a small Marcher town. Not really an improvement according to the elf. But it was better than getting crushed by an Archdemon.

As he said to the merchant, the alienage was really, really, far from the city-center. It took them thirty minutes to reach the elven settlement with Geron's shortcuts. Once in the elven sanctuary, Siris discovered a city within a city. Although, smaller, poorer and with much less merchants. A giant tree was growing in the middle of the marketplace; the local elves apparently worshiped it. Paintings have been drawing on the trunk, and candles were lit all around the roots. The tree was magnificent. And if Siris had it right, it was an attempt to reconnect with the elven culture; now crushed by the southern and northern chantry. The Master had Siris studied ancient elven language and culture; so, he wouldn't have to make the effort. Although did the young elf believed in the old Gods? She did not know. However, she liked the idea of Mythal watching other her.

"So you are an ex-slave." Geron repeated after Siris told him a little about herself. "And I thought my life was tough… Tell me: why exactly are you looking for Grey Wardens? The Blight is no more, and I heard the last group of Darkspawns around here have been dealt with."

Siris could not decently say "because I think I might be sick of the Blight." Especially to someone who escaped the last great Blight. Also, the whole "the last of the darkspawns have been dealt with" … She wasn't convinced. Geron did not know what happened to Siris on the road.

"It's the only way for me to never become a slave again." Siris said.

It wasn't _completely_ a lie. Tevinter slavers avoided Grey Wardens. The first reason was because the Wardens did not treat kindly people enslaving others for a living. The second was because according to the slavers, Grey Wardens had "bodies of poor quality". Only the spirits knew what that meant. However, Siris had no intention joining the cause. She just wanted answers, so she could start building her quiet life –or ending it right away.

"I hear you." Geron said, agreeing with her. "Well, in my book, Grey Wardens are Heroes. I'll go ask some friends if they know any Wardens in the area. But for now, we need to fill our empty bellies."

Geron was living in a tiny house with his wife, Shala, and their daughter, Kala. They did not have much, but were happy to share. Once Geron told his family about Siris, Shala became a friend.

"My mother was a slave." She said with extreme sadness, and a strange accent Siris never heard before. But it was Southern alright. "For the money, I know someone. But it's best if you don't trade all the jewelries at once. It will raise attention."

After what could have been the best lunch Siris ever had in her entire life: vegetable soup with bread; Shala brought her to another part of the alienage. The woman was not, unlike her husband, Ferelden: she was born in a small village in Orlais; and worked as a maid in Val Royeaux all her life, before meeting Geron.

The "someone she knew" was a shifty extremely nervous elf who despite is lign of work, was a terrible businessman. Siris was pretty sure the neckless she exchanged was worth less than two hundred gold, four hundred and fifty. But Shala whispered to her to just go with it. There was no point of being honest in her current situation.

Then, they went to the market. They bought Siris a better bag and filled it with supplies. Siris also bought a coat, a set of extra clothes, traveling boots and a map of the Free Marches. Siris, despite popular believes, could not read modern Common: her master taught her only old Teveene and elven. But Shala was kind enough to put markers where the main cities were. After that, Geron came back home with news.

"The Grey Wardens have a keep in Ansburg, but it's too far from here. Besides, no Wardens have been spotted there for months. My friends told me you'll have better luck in Kirkwall or Ostwick."

"If you stop at Kirkwall, be careful: the Templars there are as dangerous as the mages."

"I'm sorry, I'm not sure to know what you are talking about." Siris awkwardly said.

Geron and Shala looked at each other, surprised. Then they remembered that Siris was not from these parts. She did not know how the Chantry worked in the South.

"The Chantry does not rule the countries of the South, but it controls the mages and the Templars." Shala explained. "These ones protect mages and normal people from the effects of wrong magic by locking the mages in Circles of Magi but if mages aren't in a Circle, that means they are apostates. And these guys are dangerous. It is said they use blood magic on travelers!"

Siris knew blood magic alright. Her clothing hid the scars on her body. If the Templars were suspicious and dangerous about it, it was maybe best to never revealed these dreadful marks; publicly at the very least. Although she could not believe them being all violent and brainless. In the North, they had a reputation to be formidable -if not a bit annoying- warriors. 

It was time for Siris to leave. She promised to come back to Marel to visit Geron and Shala when her search for the Grey Warden will be done.

Maker have mercy! She will wish she never said that. She will wish she never ask help from these wonderful people. However, when she left Marel that day, she had no idea what future she was heading to.


	3. The Road to Kirkwall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After finding a bit of help in the small town of Marel, thanks to Geron and his family, Siris takes the road to Kirkwall. Maybe, just maybe, there would be a Grey Warden there.

As Geron suggested, Siris took a shuttle to Kirkwall. Her objective was Ostwick. If by any chance a Grey Warden was lingering in the first city, then she will know for sure if she sick. During her day with Geron and Shala, she made sure to touch no one, to share nothing she had eaten, not even the glass she drank in.  
The shuttle to Kirkwall could carried six awkwardly uncomfortable passengers. Siris never took a shuttle: when the master would take his slaves somewhere, there usually would walk (or run) behind the carriage they were chained to. It was a terrible way to travel. Today, heading to Kirkwall, Siris was sitting in the middle of humans. None seemed to care she was an elf, which was a nice change. Tevinter was terrible with elves, but Siris was wondering if being enslaved wasn't just as worst as being shunned.  
None of these humans were eager for conversation. The only one who would, was an old human scholar way too talkative for his own good. At a point, he thought Siris was interested about his books and started to tell her all what he knew about the elven culture. The young elf said nothing: she did not find the opportunity to cut his flow of words. The thing is, she was not interested by the books: she was merely curious (in a true ex-slave fashion) about how delicate it must be to clean them. And she was certainly not interested in what this scholar knew about the elven culture: he was taking superior looks, but only showed Siris how little he actually knew. The young woman studied ancient elves and tevinters for years, so her master would not have to bother. She knew a great deal about her people. She did not need a human taking on airs when he was nothing more but a fraud. The Vallaslin made of elfroot and halla horns powder? Blood was the only ingredient. The elven tattoos being proof of human supremacy? You have to be an idiot to believe that. Siris had those tattoos on her face. Her master's daughters thought Siris might feel "more comfortable” with these markings; so they copied a design with an improvised Vallaslin on Siris face. Fortunately, the design they picked out of ignorance was dedicated to Mythal. Siris was not much of a believer, but she often found herself admitting that having Falon'Din's (the God of Death) markings would be terrible: it would send the wrong message. Or revealed something unfortunate about her. Neither effects were good. But Mithal? Justice? Now that was a good message… to anyone who could read it.  
"Shut up or I'll throw you out in the wild."  
The man who growled the threat was sitting right next to Siris. Until now, he was sleeping quietly. He was a rather tall and strong human, a warrior: he was holding his sword and shield like his life depended on it. His skin was white, his hair and growing beard were black. Perhaps was he around thirty or forty years old? But only one thing was certain: something in his life changed him. If he was an animal, it would probably be an old, powerful and tired great bear… one that would look at any hunter with hope that the idiot will manage to kill him; without giving the idiot in question the satisfaction of an easy kill. His very voice, deep with a lovely accent, was tired, angry and sad.  
"She's too polite to tell you to your face that no one here give a shit about what you know." He continued before the scholar could complain. "Leave her alone. Be quiet, and you won't get hurt."  
The scholar complained a lot about how brutal Marcher warriors could be. "Useless grunt not good enough to serve in a proper army" were his exacts words. But one look from the warrior and the scholar quickly learnt how live-saving silence could be.  
"I am so sorry, My Lord…" Siris muttered, not daring to look at the warrior sitting next to her.  
"I'm no "Lord"." The warrior spat, before biting his lips. "Why are you apologizing for?"  
"My awkwardness disrupted your rest."  
"Don’t worry about that: this guy was talking too loud. And he was wrong."  
"How do you know?" Siris carefully asked.  
"Your nails.”  
Siris looked at her hands. She did not notice her nails cutting through her palms. Now that she did, it started to hurt. The man took her hands and dressed them with piece of torn clothes; after cleaning the wounds with clear water.  
"There. Better." He said. "May I ask why a tiny elf is traveling on her own in the Free Marches?"  
"I'm looking for Grey Wardens." She answered.  
"You want to join?"  
"Yes." Siris lied. "What about you, my Lor… hum…"  
"Rainier. Thom Rainier.” The man said, with an odd tone.

  
Could a man hate his own name so greatly? The expression he made while pronouncing the name clearly depicted a profound hatred. For some reasons, Sirishad the feeling this person sitting next to her, despite the aversion for his own name, was going to play an important part in her life; probably in History. She was right, of course, but had no idea how much at the time.  
“I'm just wandering.” Rainier added, unaware of the elf’s thoughts. “I right wrongs when I can, traveling alone the rest of the time."  
"Why?"  
"Why not?” Rainier said, his face betraying a terrible guilt.

  
The warrior named Thom Rainier made clear, by going back to his slumber, that the subject was taboo. Whatever he was really asleep was debatable. Whatever it was real or not, the young elf did not want to pry any further. Afterall, he did not ask about her origins neither.  
For a moment, Siris tried to rest too. She had slept in worst places and situations, but being on a bumpy road was definitely not helping. At least, Rainier’s shoulder offered some level of comfort –thankfully the man did not mind. As Siris was starting to dream about her old life mixing with the new one, a sudden cry of pain tore her from her rest. It came from the driver's sit. Rainier gripped his sword immediately, ready for anything. A whistle, crackled bones, then a muffled sound of a heavy bag falling on the ground; Rainier reacted immediately.  
"Heads down, now!" He shouted.

  
As he said those swords, arrow pierced threw the cart’s protective clothes. Two passengers got killed immediately. Rainier had force Siris head down, thus she was not armed; but an arrow was stuck in his shield, exactly where his head would have been.  
He put his helmet on, armed his shield and sword and jumped out of the cart. Siris did not question the situation at all. She lowered her head as much as possible. No one could see what was going on outside; but they could hear that a violent fight was happening outside. And things were not going well for their protector. Siris discreetly poke her head out of the shuttle. Warrior Rainier was injured to the arm and the leg, fighting a dozen of armed bandits!  
"We must help." She whispered.  
"Are you crazy?" The scholar said. "We'll get killed!"  
"And if we don't do something soon, he will die." A woman said. "Do you have a plan, elf?"  
"No, you?"  
"No." She answered. "Fine, let's go there and see for ourselves!"

  
The "plan" was terrible. But it was the only one they could come up with. No one else wanted to help. Siris and the woman got down the cart and hid behind it to observe. The bandits were coming from the hill and circled the courageous warrior. The woman had no weapons but her frying pan. Siris had the dagger she took from the guardswoman's belongings, but wasn't entirely sure how to use it: she had no intention of killing anybody. She definitely had no experience in hurting people with a weapon.  
None of the bandits seemed to notice the two brave women, when they slowly came out of their hiding place. They hid themselves behind the men, as quietly as possible, then hit them on their heads: the woman with her frying pan, Siris with the back of her dagger. The one the woman attacked fell immediately unconscious, but Siris wasn't as successful. After all, she was not well fed and never nourished the strength of a field-slave. The bandit was merely distracted, surprised by the rather weak attack. He turned and saw a small, frail, elven woman, shaking out of fear. Rainier ceased the occasion. He launched at the bandit and dug his sword in his chest. Then he hit in the face of another: breaking his neck with a deadly elegance. Another bandit came up to him. Rainier took Siris' Dagger and sank it in the heart.  
"One less to worry about…" Rainier muttered as he launched at another one. And another one. The bandits had lost their superiority by letting themselves be distracted by the women. Once the men were all dead, Rainier tried to catch his breath. He turned to Siris and muttered: "Are you alright?"  
The two women answered positively. Then Rainier fell on one of his knees, then on the ground. His leg was wounded. The cut was serious, although not as deep as the blood let imagine. The woman had a look at it.  
"Not to worry. I can fix this." She said as her hands got surrounded by calm blue light. "My name is Emma Caravel, previously of the Ferelden Circle. But the Tower had some trouble, so I'm here looking for a new home who would have me. Although… not Kirkwall. I'm heading to Ostwick. How about you? I think I heard you speaking of Kirkwall?"  
"True for me." Siris shyly said as she witness flesh mending itself back together with a gruesome wet noise.  
"Why not using your magic against the bandits?" Rainier asked, a bit worried as the magic healed his leg. He was trying not to show pain; but Siris could see through his mask. Call it a habit of hers.  
"Magic must serve man, not rule other him." Emma Caravel said. "These people made terrible life-choices, but they are still humans. And I've decided to put my magic to good use. Killing people with it is not a good use."

  
When Rainier's leg and arm were good as new, the three brave souls looked around for the shuttle. They had waisted enough time and the dead driver needed a proper funeral. Maybe the scholar could help with that? Unless a chantry cleric were traveling with them?  
The shuttle was gone.  
Emma immediately used her magic to locate it.  
"Blasted ignorant coward scholar!" She growled. "Abandoning us in the middle of nowhere! Leaving that poor man dead on the ground?! Coward!"  
"We can't go after them, can we?" Siris asked.  
"Not on foot. Not with their speed." Emma answered. "What should we do?"  
The two women looked at each other, trying to remember why they decided to leave the cart. Fortunately, they were traveling lightly, thus had all their belongings right here with them. Rainier answered that silent question by bowing to them.  
"I must thank you, my Ladies. Without your help, I would have died." He said. "As repayment, allow me to escort you to wherever safe place you need to go."  
"I'm no lady." Siris shyly said. "And I didn't even manage to knock "my" bandit out."  
"Nonsense!" the woman, whose name was Emma Caravel, said with determination. "True, the man did not fall on the ground, but you distracted him, allowing our friend here to put an end to his miserable life."  
"Lady Caravel is right." Rainier added.  
"Lady Caravel?" Emma repeated. "I could definitely get used to that… No matter. Sir Rainier is it not? I accept your generous offer of escorting me to Ostwick."

  
Siris had no choice since both Rainier and Emma decided to escort her to Kirkwall. She could, of course, refuse their help; but felt highly outmatch against Lady Caravel’s powerful will.  
The path was long. On the road, Emma told her traveling companions the story of Ferelden Circle during the Blight. Abominations, demons, tortures, possessions… A bloody mess that Emma barely escaped. Then, she lent her magic with the other mages to fight the Archdemon at Denerim. The mission was crowned with success, but the Circle was destroyed. In order to ease up things, Lady Caravel was sent to Ostwick Circle of Magi; but her templar escort was brutally murdered by an ogre on their way to the Free Marches. Emma herself barely escaped and bore the scars to prove her misfortune. She also carried with her the medallions of services of the two brave men who were escorting her. Whatever opinions one might have on how to deal with Magi, Emma was obviously in favor of the Circle system.

Since he owed his life to the two women, Rainier told his story. How he came out victorious of the Grand Tourney, how he enlisted in Orlais’ Army, how he became Captain and how he committed the most horrific murder in Orlais’ History. At the end of it, Siris felt so sad she fought not to cry. The man won the Grand Tourney before serving in the Orlesian Army. Then he became Guard-Captain for a Lord who, for the Game, send him and his men to kill a political opponent, with the promise of gold. But things went horribly wrong when they discovered that the carriage, they attacked had the rival's family in it. Thom Rainier knew about it, and fled, letting his men down. Yet, at some point he could no longer bear it. He gave everything he had to the ones who needed it, then left for an eternal journey on the road. The only things he kept was the shield and the sword he had won at the Grand Tourney. It was fifteen years ago. He never stopped traveling since. Never stopped fighting for the ones who couldn't. Dying would be a kind punishment, so Rainier never stopped surviving.  
Apparently, Lady Caravel heard about the crime. It was a rather unpleasant one. Yet she was glad to know the truth about her traveling companion, as well as to know the murderer was doing everything in his power to right the wrongs he committed that fateful night.  
After such difficult story, the three travelers stopped to make camp: it was almost dark; and Kirkwall was still a long way away. Emma made a fire, Siris helped with the cooking and Rainier secured the area. At a point during diner, Siris could not bear to keep the truth about herself. Both Rainier and Emma were honest: why should she be any less?  
"I was a slave." She finally said, making everyone freeze. "From Tevinter."  
Siris pulled her sleeves up, revealing old cut scars.  
"My master was not a mage, but his daughters were. They use me and the others as test subjects or living blood tanks for their experiments. We were headed to Kirkwall when Darkspawns attacked us. They killed my master and his family; then got killed by Grey Wardens. And left me for dead. I don't want to join the Grey Wardens, but I survived a terrible attack. If I'm sick, I must know. I'm sorry. I lied."

  
The two humans stayed silent for a moment, thinking. Rainier drank a bit of water before saying few words.  
"Thank you." He said. "For your honesty."  
"You are not mad?"  
"Why should we be?" Lady Caravel asked. "You revealed something extremely grave and entrusted us with this information."  
"It takes courage to admit such things." Rainier said, speaking from experience. "We'll be careful and keep it to ourselves, if it is what you want. But for now, enjoy being alive."

  
The next morning, Siris woke up early, to see Rainier preparing something to eat. Then Emma woke up. They ate, packed, and left. On the road, Emma -or Lady Caravel as the elf and the warrior liked to call her in such manners- asked questions about what happened with the darkspawns. Siris told her everything she could remember: the excruciating suffering, the terrifying silence and calmness that soon followed; and when she woke up after losing consciousness.  
"I'll admit, I never heard of anything like that." Emma said. "About the violent reaction to the tainted blood nor the fact you survived it. If you allow me, I'd like to make some research about it. I'm sure the Circle of Ostwick must at least have one book on the effects of the Blight."

  
She remained silent of a moment.  
"Could it be your tattoos?" Rainier asked. "You told us it was your master's daughter who gave you your dalish-like tattoos on your face. Since it is an ink made from blood, perhaps they put some kind of magic in it."  
"A fair point." Emma agreed. "It's something I must studied too. If it is possible, you must know about it. Who knows what other effects they might have on you."  
"But if you find something, how will you tell me?" Siris worried. "I have no home and don't plan to settle anywhere, anytime soon. Not until I've met a Grey Warden."  
"You could set up a rendez-vous: a date and a place where you must meet again." Rainier said.  
"Then it would be at Ostwick." Emma stated. "I'm not sure I will be able to join the Circle, but I doubted the Templars would let me leave the city just like that. Let's say… in three weeks, at Ostwick Chantry or Circle of Magi. How about that?"

  
Siris agreed.  
It was strange. These people, these humans, were treating her like an equal. And they were trying to help. It was too new for comfort: how could Siris stand it without being emotional?  
"So that's how being free feels like…" She muttered as her two traveling companions went into theories about Siris unusual situation.


	4. The City of Slaves - Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After an interesting journey talking to an ignorant scholar and fighting bandits, Siris arrives at Kirkwall; escorted by the Circle Mage Emma Caravel and the criminal seeking redemption Thom Rainier. Could things get more difficult? Perhaps. In the meanwhile, the toughest part of her mission has yet to come...

Siris felt sick.  
The young elf, Thom Rainier and Emma Caravel arrived late in the morning to Kirkwall. The city gates were… witnesses to the time were the Emporium ruled over the place; over slaves… Lots of them. Most of them were elves. Somehow, Siris felt these people pain -long dead now- just by looking at the statues. The tall walls were screaming "don't fuck with us!". All that made her feel sick.

During the Blight, the city became one of the many sanctuaries for refugees. Well… "Sanctuary" was a big word and Rainier, Siris and Emma weren't sure Kirkwall deserved to be call as such. Now, the Archdemon was dead and people were starting to live again. Some returned to Ferelden, but the main observation anyone could make was that fewer people wanted to go in Kirkwall. Save some few travelers such as Siris and her travelling companions.  
Emma stayed behind, waiting for Rainier. The man wanted to make sure Siris was in security inside the city, but the mage -for obvious reasons- had to stay away from any form of armored uniform.  
"This is it." Rainier said. "Kirkwall. I went here once. Be careful, Little Bird. This city is a lot of trouble."  
"I'll be careful." Siris said. " _Ma melava halani, Rainier. Ma serannas_."  
"What does it mean?" Rainier asked, curious.  
"It means something like: "You helped me. Thank you."." Siris explained, all smile. "You know… I've been thinking about what you are trying to do. I may say something stupid, since the only times I seek for forgiveness was when my master was angry… But travelling alone and going little things is good… but people won't see it. If you're looking for forgiveness, maybe you should seek for other people wondering the same road. Together, you could make a real, good, difference. And if people don't want to see the good in you, then at least you would have tried."  
"You mean… creating a group of some sorts?"  
"I heard little of the Grey Wardens." Siris said. "But for what I know: they like to reach for criminals ready to die for the greater good. You could do the same. Perhaps not going to such extreme, but Grey Wardens are too much for the world when there is no Blight. You could create something that people could look for when tragedies (other than Blights) hits them; and say: "they are here, we are safe!". It's just a thought though…"  
"A good one." Rainier said.

He looked sad. There was in his voice a bit of desperation he could not help when something happens to him he thought he did not deserve. Siris never imagined meeting a man hating himself so much. If only she could help more…  
"I know I should drop the tevene but I don't know how to say it in southern: " _Vie umo ti anima, e adore ipse._ (1) Be safe. I hope we'll meet again."  
Rainier smiled. He bowed with respected -making Siris blush like a teenager. She was a free elf, but some habits die hard: like being invisible, or not being respected as a living intelligent being. In other words, Rainier (basic) polite attitude was embarrassing for the former tevinter slave.  
"I know we already made our goodbyes, but tell Lady Emma I'm looking forward to meet her again."  
"Will do."

Rainier stayed there while Siris advanced to the city gates. She could feel his eyes on her for a while, as she waited her turn to explain the guard why she wanted to get in. Eventually, the feeling disappeared, so she looked where the warrior was standing: he was gone. And Emma, who was watching at a distance, was nowhere to be seen.  
Siris was alone again.  
"You, the tiny knife-ear, come forward." The guard said.  
"I beg your pardon?" Another one said.  
The second guard was a tall strong red hair woman. She looked strict, yet somehow gentle. But she was looking at the man with such eyes, even a pride demon would feel in danger. The city guard did not know where to stand. He tried to stand tall as he saluted his "Guard-Captain", but the man was shaking like a leaf.  
"This is no ways to great travelers, guardsman." The Guard-Captain severely said. "Latrine duty for a month. Perhaps doing the servants job will teach you some manners."  
"Yes, Ma’am!"

The guard left as quickly as he could, not wishing to meet his superior's eyes. The Guard-Captain turned to Siris who did not know what to do or say. She felt ashamed to have brought the human trouble. And yet she did nothing wrong.  
"Please accept my sincere apologies for my subordinate shameful behavior." The Guard-Captain said. "May I help you in any ways? Why do you wish to get in Kirkwall?"  
"My name is Siris, I'm looking for a Grey Warden." Siris shyly explained.

For a moment, the guardswoman's eyes changed a little. A light of knowledge gave Siris a hint: the human knew something.  
"And what makes you think you'll find one here?" She asked.  
"Nothing. But I have to meet one." Siris said, putting all her resolution in her words.  
The Guard-Captain changed again. Something was a bit off. She turned around and opened the door.  
"Please follow me." She said. “You better not make trouble, or I’ll cut you where you stand.”

Siris did not make the human repeat herself; she followed the guard into the city, climbing stairs, going downstairs, then climbing some more… How a city could have so many stairs? It was inhumane! No wonder it was called the "city of slaves": even the streets were a torture! As they arrived to what was called "Hight Town", Siris noticed a gigantic building not far for the city, yet isolated from it.  
"That's the Gallows." The Guard-Captain said, acting more "normal". "Kirkwall's Circle of Magi, under the command by Knight-Commander Meredith. The Templars do not rule the city but certainly act like it. Remember: if something bad happen, come the city-guards, not the Templars."  
"Yes, My Lady." Siris shyly said.  
"Call me Guard-Captain Aveline. I'm no lady."

So many humans were saying there were no ladies or lords. Back in Tevinter, everybody free and with small round ears was a "lord" or a "lady". If not, they certainly acted like ones.  
Guard-captain Aveline also pointed to the building "ruling the city" as she presented it: the Viscount's Keep; which was also the city-guards Headquarters. However, the human did not lead the small elf up there. They stopped in front of a noble house and knock with strength on the door. A dwarf opened.  
"Ah! Guard-Captain Aveline!" He said with a jolly voice. "Please come in! I'll call Messere Hawke immediately. Who should I announce with you…?"  
"Siris." Aveline simply said.  
"Very well. Please! Come in! Have a sit."

Aveline stayed on her two feet, but invited Siris to sit on the chair near the fireplace. The elf looked so tiny in the armchair obviously made for humans. The house was beautiful and well kept. At a point, a tall woman with black short hair and a red mark painted on her nose got down the stairs; a huge dog was with her, and one of the strangest elf Siris ever met. The man had a dark skin, yet moon-white hair falling into his eyes. His black clothes could not hide the most unusual set of tattoos: they were white and… shiny.  
"Welcome Aveline!" Said the human. "You must be Siris. Welcome to you too."  
"This young lady needs to meet a Grey Warden. Since I know nothing about a Grey Warden in Kirkwall, I'll leave the matter to you, Hawke. See you soon."

Aveline left and Siris felt extremely anxious. The white-hair elf did not look friendly at all, yet the little traveler could feel some kind of familiar pain emanating from him, or at least the memory of a pain. She could not help but empathize with him; even if he might not notice it -or want it. Siris could also swear she saw him somewhere in the past; but where? When?  
"So? What makes you want to meet a Grey Warden?" Lady Hawke asked sitting in front of the tiny elf.  
"It's… complicated." Siris said, not willing to tell her story again.

Hawke's accent was Ferelden, and Emma told Siris to be careful to who she tells her story about surviving a darkspawn attack. If the elf had the Blight, no one would want to help her.  
"And I might just forget where to find a Warden." Hawke said, not spitefully, but careful. "Either you tell me what brings you here, or my memory might just… slip away."  
"Kaffas…" Siris muttered, making the white-hair elf stood up a little. "All right. But I beg you not to get mad at me."  
"I make no promises." Hawke said, rising an eyebrow, looking at her friend with a worried curiosity.  
"I… survived a darkspawn attack, but know not if I'm sick."

She wasn't going to tell them she was a tevinter slave, nor that her master died. Especially since the white-hair elf was trying to kill her with the power of stare. At a point, Hawke came back from her mental wondering and asked "Fenris" to go tell "Anders" she'll be at the clinic very soon.  
Fenris. Siris thought. She knew that name. But where did she heard it? Blasted memory! The young elf could remember ancient elven carvings in every possible detail but not a simple, modern name? Either ways, it was suspicious. A white-hair elf with shining white tattoos named "Fenris", who frowned when he heard her swear in tevene… No. No, it could not be that person, could it? Siris put all her thought in a corner of her head while the elf threw a suspicious look at her, before leaving.  
Hawke went upstairs and came back in a full armor and a staff. A mage noblewoman? Siris needed to show respect. And yet, what were the customs for this type of people in the Free Marches?  
The small elf followed the human down what looked like a secret passage in the house's cellar. It arrived directly in what Hawke referred to be "Darktown". From a double door, Siris could hear an argument.

"I can't turn my back two seconds without having them fighting…" Growled Hawke. "Anders, Fenris, enough!"  
The two men stopped immediately to fight. Fortunately, their argument was only with words, but Siris just knew that the elf would have killed the man and not even regret it.  
The man in question, "Anders", was a blonde human in mercenary's clothes. He had a magic staff and lots of cats around his place. He looked nice, although there was something strange about him. Hawke pushed Siris towards the man.  
"Siris, meet Anders. Anders, meet Siris. The girl needs help."  
"About?" Anders replied, still grumpy from the fight.  
"Blight."

Anders turned around to stare at Siris. He looked worried, anxious and dead-serious. With is staff, he pointed one of the beds.  
"Sit." He ordered. "Know that I can't and won't make her a Warden."  
"I know." Hawke said, with pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) "Live for your soul/heart and love yourself."
> 
> I used Katie's Almost Totally Made-Up Tevene Dictionary/Reference, on Archives of Our Own


	5. The City of Slaves - Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Siris entered Kirkwall and found help. The Champion, the hero named Marian Hawke, was the only one knowing where a Grey Warden was hiding. But now, the former tevinter slave must make a decision.

It was done.  
Siris looked at the sea and wondered, only for a moment, how Ferelden was.  
The Grey Warden Mage Anders looked if she was sick. Nothing. Not even a tiny sign of Blight. How could this be possible? She remembered perfectly the excruciating pain as the corruption invaded each part of her body… She remembered. It wasn't a dream. So how could she be "fine".  
Fine…  
Anders said that word looking at her with disgust: she was not a mage, not a human, not blighted and she was wasting his time. Then Fenris said something… what was it? She could not remember; but the mage burst into rage… literally. Blue light coming out of his mouth and eyes and his very skin. An abomination. Although, he looked better than some abomination Siris saw back in Minrathous. Less goo, less "bwaaaaarrrr…"; even if this "Justice", as Hawke called it, did not look nicer than the usual demon.  
Anyway, Siris did not want to be anywhere near the human/Grey Warden/Abomination. She had enough of creepiness in her life; she did not need more.  
That happened two days ago. Since then, Siris was looking at the sea, empty thoughts, not hungry, not thirty, not wanting anything. Confusion was the only thing she could feel. How did all this happen to her? A slaver from Tevinter attacked by darkspawn, running to a Grey Warden to know if it's the end and now… nothing. What was she supposed to do now? She should probably go visit Lady Caravel as promised, but what will she tell her? She still had two weeks or so to go to Ostwick; two days for travel… What will she do until then?  
"I should ask how you feel." Fenris said, sitting on the edge of the cliff next to her. "But I know the answer. You are a slave from Tevinter."  
"I used to be… I think." Siris slowly answered. "How did you know?"  
"You cursed in tevene when Anders' dementia was showing."  
" _Kaffas…_ " The young elf muttered; then decided to change subject. "When _Domne_ Anders…"  
" _Anders._ " Fenris grumpily corrected. "He's no lord."  
"When _Anders_ checked if I was sick… I remembered something."  
"I'm not sure I want to know; magic is dangerous." The white-hair elf mumbled.  
"Well, you might want to know, because I remembered you."

Fenris went silent, as still as ice. His face was pale; which looked a bit strange with his usual dark colored skin. However, Siris did not divert her eyes from the sea; her mind was focused.  
"There were rumors among the slaves, back in Minrathous." She said. "A magister performing a ritual. One of his elven slaves come out of it strong and… changed. Lyrium covering his skin, his hair… completely white and no memories to identify himself. The ones who saw the slave were terrified of him. They called him the White Wolf. Fenris, turns out to be his name…"

Siris took a moment to think. She remembered him well. She saw him once, from a distance. Master Danarius was visiting her Master. Usually she was studying for him, but a plague took too many house slaves, so she had to help in the kitchens. Fenris came for wine. He looked like a ghost. Now… he looked better, but was he better? He certainly looked angrier than before. Before, he looked empty.  
Fenris said nothing. Was he chocked? Perhaps. But Siris was not done with her story yet.  
"My master, as Magister Danarius' friend, was traveling to Kirkwall to look for you; when we were attacked. I know that if he does not give word to Domne Danarius, this one will come personally. Master is dead. You must stay on your guard."  
"He's here?!"  
"I don't know. Maybe. One thing is for sure, he will not give up on you until he’s dead. Lyrium has this effect on people."  
“How do you know it’s lyrium?”  
“Only that glow through clothes in daylight.” Siris said, studying her toes and, far beneath, the waves crashing on the cliff.

Siris stood up, tired of the wind blowing cold on her skull. What will happen now? Should she go back to Kirkwall? Planning her journey to Ostwick? Looking for a job? Perhaps she had a shot at becoming a house servant somewhere in Hightown. Or, she could take advantage to her knowledge on Tevinter and ancient elven Culture and try to find work as a teacher or researcher... Probably would have more chances as an assistant. Something good had to come out of all those years of forced studies, no? Perhaps the Circle would be interested. But did they take elven non-mages researchers? Siris shook her head. No, she needed to go to Ostwick. Lady Caravel was a gentle soul, but Siris did not know how the human mage would take it if she was late for their meeting. With any luck, the mage was nothing like the Magisters in Minrathous.

To say that Fenris was furious was an understatement. At least it wasn’t against Siris. He accompanied her back to Kirkwall, then left to go to Lady Hawke’s estate. He probably wanted to talk to her, or stay away from the streets. Who knows? Fenris certainly did not talk about his plan to Siris. Herself was wondering if she needed to be careful. She never met Danarius and suspected he had no idea what she looked like. Why he looked for her anyway? She was his dead friend presume dead slave. She had no worth. Or perhaps she did, knowing so many things about the elven and teveene culture and history. The woman decided to drop the subject entirely. She was in Kirkwall. People hated Tevinter in the South. She was discreet, thus safe. Just another elf in another big city. The thought was somewhat depressing.

For hours, Siris wandered in the city with no real plan. The alienage made her sick, Lowtown was a dump, Hightown's folks looked at her like some kind of diseased animals. When her stomach grew tired of waiting for food, she went to the alienage and bought a piece of bread and an apple. The southerners seemed to have a thing for cheese; but the smell and aspect did not encourage Siris' appetite. The elf went to the dock to eat while watching the waves. The Gallows were gloomy, but the giant chains had something reassuring… in a weird sense. The mages were locked there. No blood magic could reach Siris. This was good thing. Yet good mages, like Emma Caravel, surely were living in the Gallows too. Were they treated well? Shala, back in Marel, did say the Templars here were just as crazy and dangerous as the mages.

“Excuse me, miss?”

Siris looked up. A human, male, with long dark hair and un goatee standing a bit away from her. He wore the clothes of a merchant doing well for himself, yet not enough to be above all troubles of life. He looked a bit embarrassed.  
“I’m terribly sorry to bother you, my name de Barnabus Villini, I sell quality paint for artists. I’m looking for a bit of help with my merchandise. My workers left without a word and I need to unload the crates off the boats as soon as possible. Would you accept to help me? Not for free, of course! Fifty silver once the job is done.”

He was awfully polite. From what the Siris have seen, humans are not particularly good with elves in the South. They are definitely doing better than the ones in the North, but still. The woman felt a bit awkward. Also, Siris did not really need the money: selling her masters’ jewels gave her a lot of gold. However, the man seemed to really need help and offer money in exchange. Honest work could be a pleasant change. Although why the man would think a tiny elf like herself would be strong enough to help with crates, that was a mystery. Siris thought, for a second, that the money she had might not be enough if she wanted a place for herself. She had no idea how much a house or a simple room cost in Southern Thedas, but she was almost certain it was not cheap. Therefore, the woman took the decision to stand up and then, followed him to a warehouse. Other people were waiting.  
“I think we’ll be enough.” Villini said. “Please follow me.”

They were about eleven workers, which included six elves and three women. All were obviously looking for a way to fill their bellies. The two women looked like the famous dalish with their tattoos on their face. However, their urban clothes proved they were no longer part of a clan. Siris tried to avoid them. She did not want to talk about her markings; subject that would come up without a doubt. was the last to enter the warehouse. The place was huge and had access to the sea. On the dock, two boats were waiting. However, they did not look heavy nor meant for crates. A bad feeling crept in her neck. She discreetly backed away but bumped into sturdy obstacle. She turned around to see a man, tall, wearing a set of armor that she knew all too well. She was about to scream “Slavers!” when he knock her unconscious with the hilt of his sword.


	6. The City of slaves - Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Siris discovered that she was not sick with the Blight: but what now? Kirkwall, as a big city, is full of opportunities and there is still time before meeting Emma Caravel in Ostwick...

Teveene is a colorful language, to say the least. When it came to insults, it is far better than elven which sounds too nice to be vulgar. As a woman of the people, Siris knew a lot of rude words to spat at people’s faces; yet none came to mind at this very moment.  
She was in a cage, a meter or so above the ground. Her hands were in chains, bound to a bar. She was wearing nothing but the loose white shirt she had taken from the dead guardswoman’s belongings. The rest was in a pile a few meters away, with the other prisoners’ things. The men in the group have been drugged and shoved in cages. Those were not hanging from the ceiling: the slavers already packed them in the boats. Siris felt so cold she could no longer feel her toes. Moving them were the only way to be sure they were still there. Cold was a rare thing in Tevinter; at least in the region where her former master used to live. Here, the very air was freezing, also because of the sea not far. Guards were making rounds while two others were discussing around a table.

“The magister will arrive soon.” One said. “Are you sure he’ll pay?”  
“He’ll pay. The person he asked for is an elven woman, petite, black hair, dark skin with dalish tattoos on her face. It’s awfully specific to be random: I’m sure he’ll pay a lot for her.” Villini said. “I found three going by this description. One of them has to be the wench in question.”  
“Why does he want someone like that? None of them would be good slaves, in my opinion.”  
“It’s not about what they can do, but what they can say. One of them as information the magister needs, about an escape slave. And if they don’t know anything, they’ll be whores; you know how it works.”  
“A slave escaped a Magister?” the man laughed. “Damn! The humiliation it must be.”  
“Especially if the slave in question is covered with lyrium.” Villini added.

They were talking about Fenris, without a doubt; which made the Magister Domne Danarius… and the girl in question Siris. Unless the other two knew something; but they did not look like former slaves, nor one who would know personally the strangest elf alive. Also, if they knew everything, they would not have tried to call for these men good sides, telling them they had children and people were waiting for them. Slavers did not care about all this: any slaves would have known that.

Siris tried to look around some more. The other prisoners have been loaded on the boats, but the elven women were still waiting to be processed. They needed to escape. Somehow. Siris went through too much to give up now. Freedom was weird, sure; but she liked it better than having her life depend on someone else’s whim. If only Rainier was here. Not that she thought him invincible, but he could certainly take all those men in a fight and come out victorious… right? It was rhetoric: the human was nowhere near Kirkwall. Siris couldn’t expect Fenris to show either since Danarius wasn’t here; and he was on the run after all. As for Guard-Captain Aveline, she needed to be informed of what was going on before helping someone. Unless dumb luck were on Siris side, for once. While going through all the names of the potential help, Siris realized how few people she knew. No family, no friends… No one was going to miss her. Was all hope lost? The girls in the other cages were crying. They wanted to live, free, like Siris.  
Tears were not going to solve any problems. Siris had nothing on her that could help, but perhaps an opportunity will show, or…

Someone knocked on the door. One of the slavers went to check on it. He came back following a tall human with grey hair, a full beard and wearing robes. He was accompanied by another human, a woman in robe too. An elven woman was following them, was she a slave? She did not act like one, although she was making herself small. Villini greeted Danarius like his most precious client. He served him a drink while leading him toward the cages. They had set a small table with a bowl of fruits and a bottle of fine wine; next to a wooden armchair, handcrafted and expensive. The man sat like a king. He studied the women in the cage as a man inspects cattle from afar. The two women accompanying him stand behind him. 

“These are three women who go by the description you gave us, my Lord.” He said. “As requested, we did not question them. I understand you wish to do it yourself?”  
“You understand right.” Danarius said. “I know slaves quite well. One of those wenches recently escaped, by murdering my friend and his family. But she also has valuable information about one of my properties.”

He snapped his fingers and one of his servants went back outside.

“I know that an escape slave values the first act of kindness given to them when they escape.” He said. “thus, I brought something to help loosen their tongues. Actions will speak loudly than words.”

Siris waited for this “something” to show up. Abominations were not enough; did they really need to bring more sickening things to the scene? Tevinter mages were sick. That was what the elven woman thought; yet could not be prepared for what came. She certainly did not want to be proven right.

The servant came back with a bad in one hand and a chain on which two persons were attached on the other hand. The two persons were women, but their faces were covered with a large piece of cloth. One look small, she was probably young. She was crying. Siris never saw any one shake this violently of terror. The other one looked a bit stronger, a working woman no doubt. She had cried but had also spat a lot of insults: her bleeding nose and cracked lip proved that much. For a moment, Siris thought she knew them. She discarded the idea quickly: she knew no one worth using as leverage against her. The two women were brought to Danarius feet. Both were crying. Danarius ordered the human woman to take the bag. “You know what to do.” He said.

She smiled, took the bag and walked forward. When she was sure all three prisoners in the cages were looking at her, she cast a spell. The large bag crumbled into dust, revealing it content, floating in the air. One the elves in the cages immediately vomited, the other one creamed in horror. Siris remained still, heart frozen and empty mind.

A head was floating in front of her cage. The face was twisted by pain. A hand which the fingertips were covered with dried blood, where the nails used to be. A heart, surgically cut and magically infused so it would keep pumping. Eyes, blue with dots of grey.

Geron.


	7. The City of Slaves - Part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the Knight-Captain Cullen receives a call for help from local elves, he finds himself forced to investigate into the disappearance of two elven woman. Thankfully, the main suspect was not as discreet as he thought and Cullen finds his trail quickly... but maybe not fast enough.

It started with a bad feeling. Something was rubbing him the wrong way and the Knight-Captain Cullen Rutherford hated that profoundly. A day ago, twenty-three elves showed up in the Gallows asking for help. The guards had ignored they distress; now they were looking at the Templars to do their job. Two loved ones had vanished. Two women, elves, black hair, dark skin and dalish markings on their faces. One helped a friend fisherman, the other went to buy food despite having little. Both never left the Alienage for too long had both were terrified of crowds. Both went to the docks, none had returned since. Normally Cullen would have asked the family to wait another day, maybe the women were busy with something and could not sent word. But the similarities between the two women were troubling. A similar case had just been closed –one that killed one of the mages, here in the Gallows, and Lady Hawke’s mother. Women looking alike being killed for just that. Needless to say, all law enforcement groups were careful with those cases now. However, those women were elves and the time-lapse between their disappearance and their family whistleblowing was too short. Two things that made the city guard not wanting to lift a finger. It was always like this. Elves were victims, guards ignore them, Templars are called. When there was magic involved, the Order took charge; when there was none, they ignored the call for help. Sometimes, Cullen wish he had the power to oversee the security of the entire City. Politics would not get in the way of his duties, that was for sure!  
When his Lieutenant greeted the elves, he tried to find any proof that there was not any magic involved. He almost succeeded at ignoring them until one of the missing elves child was brought forward. The little girl told the Templar her mother once complained about creepy men with magic in their hands around the Alienage. Then again, the Templar tried to convince them it was no magic but a trick of the mind from a child’s creativity. Knight-Captain Rutherford send the Templar in latrine duty for a week. Cullen could definitely not dismiss the case. He immediately sent for Hawke. He did not like involving civilians in investigations, but she was the Champion of Kirkwall and simply knew how to get things done. Also, considering the nature of the case and knowing the murderer of Lady Hawke never was caught, the Champion might find some personal motivations. One might say it was dangerous to implicate such person in an investigation, but Marian Hawke was the best investigator in the City. She could also be deadly cold and efficient, even during very difficult times.

While on his way to the docks, he had tasked his Templars to investigate –discreetly. They reported with interesting news.

Cullen was adjusting his gauntlet when the Champion joined him on the docks, where the missing women were last seen. Hawke was accompanied with the dwarf Varric Tethras and the elf Fenris. One could bullshit his way out of any situation, the other one could murder his way out of any situation. And Hawke could do both. The Knight-Captain could not support the ability to kill without remorse, but knew, somehow, that the elf was on a tight leash when with Hawke. According to the rumors, they were lovers. One might think she had a good influence on him, non? Cullen hoped that was the case, or the Knight-Commander Meredith will have his head. The Knight-Captain had another feeling about the situation: this was going to end in tears, for someone, at some point during the day.

“Champion.” Cullen greeted her.  
“What do you know Knight-Captain?” Hawke said, tense.  
“Two elven women, black hair, dark skin, former dalish, disappeared yesterday, here in the docks. One of the children said his mother complained about a potential mage looking scary. A few workers around here confirmed that an odd-looking man dressed in merchant clothes was lurking about. Although he never gave proof of his magic abilities in public, he matches the description given by the little girl. Another merchant tried to have business with the suspect, but the man avoiding talking altogether. The only moment they saw him talk with others was to gather help for moving his goods. Finally, they claim they saw a group of people waiting in front of this warehouse door, other there.”

Cullen pointed at the door in question. The place looked normal, aside of the fact that Templars were had secured the area as well as they secure the Circle. Air-tight was an understatement.

“The women we are looking for have been sighted within the group. However, the witness also said they saw a third elf, female, black hair, dark skin, dalish markings. My men could not identify her however.”  
“This rings a bell, doesn’t Hawke.” Varric said.  
“Indeed.” Hawke agreed sternly. “Did the witnesses say anything else about the third elf?”  
“Only that she talked to no one and sat on the edge of the docks for hours, like a statue.” Cullen replied. “Do you know her?”  
“Not exactly.” Hawke said. “I’ve met her and helped her reach a Grey Warden –long story short: she had a rough start in life and thought –with cause—that she might have the Blight.”

Cullen, as a Ferelden who survived the Blight, could only understand the elf’s feeling. Although the Templar was certain Hawke had “forget” to tell him other important details about the woman. However, considering the situation, the Knight-Captain decided that knowing more about the third elven woman was not important.

“A kidnapping in broad day light? I’m torn between thinking that the guy is a genius or a creep.” Varric commented.  
“He might also be Mother’s murderer.” Hawke gravely said.

Varric apologized, but Hawke could not hate him. Cullen had to interrupt their banter. Every second wasted could mean the death of one of the women.

“I’ve secured the area. If there is indeed a kidnapping and potential murder, then the criminals won’t run. I ordered my men all around the dock, blocking access to the city and the sea. There is only on way in and out. We’ll break the door. I’ll go first, blocking magic and projectiles. You’ll follow. Then my men.”  
“Then all Hells break loose.” Hawke muttered.

Cullen saw the elf Fenris discreetly caress her arm with the back of his hand. She took a deep breath then was ready. There was a fire in her eyes no one wanted to play with.

“Thank you for letting me take part of the operation.” Hawke said as they were taking position.  
“Thank you for assisting us in the matter.” Cullen plainly said. “Remember, there are potentially mages inside. Not the friendly kind if we are to trust the witnesses.”

Everybody got into position. Cullen walked to the door, readied his shield and sword. He looked at Hawke who had her staff ready. He reminded himself that, as a Champion and a noble, Hawke was not to be bothered by the Templar Order. But the Knight-Captain had the feeling her magic abilities were going to bring trouble one way or another.  
She gave him the signal: with one powerful lyrium-imbued kick, Cullen destroyed the door.

Splinters flew across the room. The group interrupted something, but not the cries. Waves of shivers flew down Cullen’s spine has he blocked the attack of a guard. The Knight-Captain, followed by Hawke and her companions and his Templars, rushed further in the warehouse. Armed men attacked them immediately. Cullen decapitated one, then stabbed another. Hawked burnt another one ready to crush Cullen on the ground. The body melted. Fenris, as fast as lighting, destroyed more of the men. Only when he got close to the “stage” that magic from the opposite side exploded. A mage—no, two! Cullen focused. The lyrium in his blood woke up even more. Blue light made his eyes glow. Faster than a falcon, he launched on his prey, knocking down the woman casting spells. Annulling her magic, she did not stand a chance. Cullen lodged his weapon in her liver then cut her right above the shoulder.

The fight went on until one man was still standing, surrounded by templars, Hawke, a dwarf and one pissed elf. Cullen wasn’t sure what was that about but let Fenris deal with the man. The Templar needed to check on the prisoners. While his men were scouting the area, Cullen came closer to the cages above the floor. Two elven women with black hair, dark skin dalish tattoos, were crying, in shock. When the Templar freed them, they could not stop gripping their armor, begging them to get them out of here, to keep them safe. The third elf was different. She was small and not dalish. Sure, she had the tattoo, but those were crude, like made by unsteady and inexperienced hands. Dalish were too careful with their tradition too messed up a job like that. Also, the woman was not crying. She was facing away, eyes open but lost in the void. When Cullen freed her hands and opened the cage, she did not move. She did not react when he touched her shoulder to “wake” her up, nor when he called for her. She let him grab her by the arm and carry her outside. Then she was shaking like a leaf. It wasn’t the cold as the weather was pleasant these days. She was terrified, yet even more scared to look around, to move and to speak. Cullen let her in the care of his lieutenant, a woman who had a knack at gently getting people out of their shells.  
He went back into the warehouse. The first report was grim. Slavers had a business going there for quite some time here. It seems that three prisoners did not survive whatever was happening when the Templars rushed in. They had found pieces of a man, although not the whole body. They could not piece together the body of one of the other victims, an elven woman in her thirties. The body was a large flat area of gore. Only her head was intact, although her eyes have been crushed in their socket. They also found what they think was her ring finger. According to the Templar, the torture process was long and painful. The woman died only when her body literally exploded. The third body was one of an eleven-or-so elven girl. Her nails have been removed, as well as her teeth. The executioner was in the process of removing one of her eyes, when she had a stroke.

“There are two survivors, Ser.” The Templar said. “A man, possibly the suspect; and an elven woman who was on the attackers’ side. The Champion have been keeping her elf away from the woman. We’ve taken the suspect into custudy, so he’ll receive treatment for his injuries, to await judgement. This way please.”

Cullen followed his subordinate. His eyes lingered were the body of the tortured ones were. The Templars did their best to gather the pieces. Underneath the piece of clothes, only the child normal.

The room in which the survivor was kept was a storage room. The Champion was watching an elven woman too well-dressed to be one of the victims. Templars were in the room too. The dwarf was sitting a bit away. He seemed exhausted and… sad. Cullen understood such thing quite easily. The whole case was a terrible mess.

“I ordered Fenris to go breath some fresh air.” The Champion. “This is Varania, former Tevinter slave and apprentice of the Magister Danarius, who’s now dead.”  
“Mercy…!” Muttered the elven woman.  
“I’m sure the girl your magister tortured said the same thing.” Grumbled Cullen. “Answer the questions. What was a Tevinter Magister doing in Kirkwall.”  
“The master was looking for Leto.”  
“Who’s that?”  
“I can answer that.” Hawke said. “It was Fenris former name, before he got those strange markings and lost his memories. This person is apparently his sister.”  
“Why the torture if you wanted Fenris?” Cullen asked. “Fenris is a former slave. Why want him back in shackles if he’s your brother?”  
“You know nothing of us. Leto took the power and left us to die.” Mumbled the elf. “The Master had a friend who died. The slave killed him and his family. He thought she might have information about Fenris. He only had her description from a fence who bought jewels from her. Black hair, dark skin, dalish tattoos.”  
“Did she know anything?” Cullen wondered, feeling sick from what he was hearing.

The elf looked at the floor, in shame.

“I… I don’t know. She said nothing. When they figured out which one of the women was the slave, the Master used her friends to make her talk. But she said nothing. She did not even look at them!”  
“You.” Slap Hawke. “You figured out, you used her friends. Don’t you dare minimize your role in this. You are an accomplice, ready to sell your own brother even if it meant killing innocent people. You are no better than Danarius. You should be lucky I asked Fenris to wait outside.”  
“So you kidnap three women, torture and kill an entire family, all for nothing.” Cullen interrupted, when he felt Hawke was starting to lose her composure.  
“We did not kidnap the women! The slavers did!”

Cullen stared at the elven woman. He grabbed Hawke hand the moment he raised it to punch the woman. Let her to the Order. He said. She’ll will pay for her crimes. No need to punish her yourself. Also, despite sharing the exact same feeling as her, the Knight-Captain knew that the Champion would not feel any better after caving the elven woman’s teeth in. Thus, he told Hawke to step back a little. She could only make a comment on how sick these words were, how disgusting her way to see things was. The Champion’s voice kept Cullen grounded. He ordered his men to take the elven woman to the Gallows. The justice of the Viscount will take care of her; if not him, the Knight-Commander Meredith will.  
He exited the warehouse with the hope he’ll never set foot in there again. The whole thing crushed every love in humanity one could have. The hatred for Tevinter, however, grew a little bigger. The Knight-Captain went back to his Lieutenant, with the third prisoner from the cages. Apparently, she was the one the Magister was hoping to get information out of. Varric had said her name was “Siris”. Cullen tried to keep this information in mind as he listened to the templar woman. She greeted her superior with bad news.

“She’s not responding to anything.” She said. “I tried everything, even ask Ser William to make his special stew, which smell delicious by the way. She is completely elsewhere; and I’m not sure I want to know where.”

Cullen had a rough idea. If the magister wanted to question the elf about Fenris, it must have been because of her relation to Tevinter. Considering the whole situation and bringing all their knowledge in perspective, Cullen came to the logical conclusion that Siris was a former Tevinter slave, like Hawke’s friend. He did not want to imagine what she had been through; but understood her current state of emptiness too well.

He sat on the crate next to the elf. She was small, skinny and could use a bath. Her hair were a mess and her hands were injured. She had tried to claw her way out of the shackles, hurting her wrist and ripping her nails off. A detail made him take one of her hands. Although he was using all the delicacy in him, the woman tensed even more. The Templar woman, when she noticed the state of the hands, barked at someone to bring something to dress wounds. Cullen did not care about that. He turned the wrist. He closed his eyes. The man knew it was a highly probable possibility, but seeing the scars made him both sick and tired. Damn mages and blood magic. Tales of Tevinter using slaves for blood rituals were not wild stories to scare children. As a Templar, Cullen knew that very well: he simply did not like when the world proved extremists right.  
The elf named Siris had her eyes were focused on Cullen’s boot, but only because he put it there.

“I’m Knight-Captain Cullen, of the Templar Order here in Kirkwall.” He said, giving back her hand. “I lead the attack against your captors. I confirmed the mage going by the name Danarius has been killed, as well as his apprentice. We are taking his elven servant in the Gallows, with what seemed to the leader of the slavers; where they’ll wait for judgment.”

He saw her blink. The Templar woman immediately said that it was the first reaction she saw from the elf.

“The two women locked in the cages next to yours are safe and will be joining their families as soon as the doctor is done with them. The three elves, a man, a woman and a child, however, did not survive. I understand they were your friends… I’m truly sorry for your loss.”

The elven woman slowly looked away. She looked like she was going to be sick; or perhaps she was just fighting tears.


	8. The Knight-Errant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saved by the Order of Templars and the Champion Hawke, Siris is slowly getting better. Now that her past won't chase after her, now that the Blight is no longer a threat; the elf must decides where to go. Then, she receives an unexpected visit...

Summer was coming. That was what all the Marchers had in mind. Summer was coming, thus heat waves, violent rains and lots of work. Siris did not really understand what was all this fuss about. Working to exhaustion under a murderous sun? Another Tuesday for the former Tevinter slave. Although this year, she did not have to work.  
After the Templars saved her from the slavers, Lady Hawke took Siris under her wing for a while. She wanted to make amends, for some reasons. Soon, the elf understood that it was Fenris who asked the human to help. Of course, the “broody elf” as Mr Tethras liked to say, never breathed a word about it, but it was definitely his doing. Siris was not going to complain; she had gain twenty kilograms since staying in the estate and she was no longer lethargic. She was even starting to be able to forget the screams and gruesome noises she had heard during her captivity.

She also worked on her freedom.

The first thing Siris did was to ask Mr Feddic to write a letter for her; then promised herself to learn Common. She wanted to contact Lady Caravel and Ser Rainier. Her letter was short; it was going straight to the point. The elf told she ran into trouble, thus will be late to their meeting. She hoped they were doing fine.  
They answer was immediate. Three days later, Mr Feddic opened the door to a tall man in armor, dark brown hair, growing beard, holding shield and sword. Thom Rainier had made the journey to Kirkwall, with a letter. Hawke invited the man inside, then let the visitor sit next to the fireplace with her guest.  
Thom read the letter for Siris. Emma was indeed in the Circle of Ostwick: she was glad to hear about Siris again –her well-being seemed to mean a great deal to the mage.

“ _As I write this letter, our common friend went out to get his things. He should arrive in Kirkwall to get you, shortly after this letter. This is not matter of debate: you will come to Ostwick and live with me for a while. This Circle allows guests, thus do not worry about being welcome: you are! This place is very peaceful; I am not worry about your quick recovery. There is also an impressive collection of books about elven culture; if I remember correctly you enjoyed this subject of study._  
 _I made some research about your survival. My new colleagues don’t know anything, as suspected; and the books are rather vague about surviving the Blight sickness. Most say that survival is impossible unless one becomes a Grey Warden (but that’s not really survival, is it?). Did you manage to find a Grey Warden in Kirkwall? If yes, what did he or she say?_  
 _Please give my sincere thanks to Lady Hawke for her bravery and kindness. You have to thanks Knight-Captain Cullen too: despite being a Templar, doing his duties, etc… He saved your life and stopped a terrible man from hurting more people. (Do I like him? Why, yes I do. Not like that though. He was a kind man once. I’m simply glad he’s returning towards this side of himself.)_  
 _(Don’t tell him I wrote that.)_

_Stay safe my friend,_

_Emma Caravel_  
 _Enchanter of Ostwick Circle of Magi,_  
 _Formerly of Ferelden Circle of Magi_ ”

“Who is this Knight-Captain Cullen?” Siris asked.  
“Wasn’t he the man you talked to you when you were saved?” Rainier wondered. “You don’t remember?”  
“I wasn’t feeling well…”

 _Lethargic mind_ , as Siris called it, was her defense mechanism. It helped dealing with tough situation while remaining capable of following orders. It was useful but held some downsides too. To get out of this state, Siris needed time and a great deal of will. While in this state, she had a hard time remembering things. Usually, the elven woman did not want to remember what happen… except this time. Having the memory of a human defending her could have been a good thing. How was she going to thank him for something she could barely recall?

Once Rainier had finished to read the letter, he looked at Siris and asked for more details about what happened to her; since her message was quite vague. When she did tell him, the man felt, more at himself than at anyone else.

“I should have stayed with you.” He said. “I could have…!”  
“What happened, happened.” Siris said. “We cannot change the past. How about you tell me how the road to Ostwick was.”

Rainier sighed. The elf knew she was right, and the man could not argue with her logic. Although she must not have been particularly convincing with her little body buried in the large armchair, underneath five different covers that only let her face visible. Siris felt a bit ridiculous but Mr Feddic knew how to convince people what is best for them.

“We left the outskirts of Kirkwall easily, although met trouble sooner than expected. It was the usual bandits, a qunari deserters, giant spiders…” He started to say. “I like to think of myself as a good warrior; but Lady Caravel’s magic was damn impressive. Terrifying, but effective. She used it against our enemies only once: on the spiders. Then she tried to convince me that they were good for your health. Can you imagine: cooked giant spiders? This woman is smart and kind, but she has strange thoughts sometimes. Yet I ate the damn thing. I’m not sure if I was more terrified that Emma might fry me where I stood if I didn’t try her cooking or that I would have to fight with an empty belly.”  
“How did it taste?” Wondered Siris who had a hard time imagining how a giant spider could be cooked.  
“The ones with long legs are spongy, full of water. I can’t say I liked it one bit. The thick ones with lots of hair: only the insides of the legs are eatable, according to Emma. It remined me of chicken, but stringy. I reckon with a bit of spices it would taste better… I’m still wondering where Emma got the idea that giant spiders would make good food. Wait… No. I don’t want to know. Mages are too strange for me.”  
“When did you arrive in Ostwick?” Asked siris, changing subject.  
“The day after the spiders.” Rainier answered. “The city gates were closed, because of a rat infestation. Everybody was locked in their homes while others were trying to kill the damn things without being swarmed. Of course, the guards refused to let us out. So, Emma looked at them like some kind of diva and bullshited her way in. she used a shield to protect herself. From behind the gate, I could only hear thousands of squeaky noises raise as flames burned the streets. Yet, when we looked inside, the street was clean, no fire damage, no soot and the magic brooms were dusting the ashes of the little devils away. The cries of happiness that came out the house was incredible. Even the Templars greeted Emma. Then she showed her letter of transfer and the dog tags. The men simply took her to the Circle. The next day, the Grand Cleric and Knight-Commander summoned me in the Chantry. Emma had told about me. I was furious. But instead of condemned me, they gave me this.”

Rainier took out of his pocket a medallion. Siris observed it closely. It was a round and solid metallic object hanging from a just-as-solid and long chain. It looked, from afar, like a Templar dog tag, but bigger. It had on it the burning sun of the Southern Chantry on one side; on the other was written “ _Thom Rainier, Knight-Errant in the name of the Maker, Andraste; in service of all the people of Thedas._ ”

“According to the Grand Cleric, the Order of the Knight-Errants is an age-old Order meant for criminals to find redemption, while the Chantry can claim it keeps the roads safe. The men and women with this medallion are not to be arrested unless they commit a crime right in front of the guards. They have to be generous, brave, wise, honorable and compassionate. They have to right the wrongs on their path.”  
“They must be an example of the best of humanity.” Summarized Siris. “Seems to me to be a fine thing.”  
“I’m not sure I’ll agree to join.” Rainier said, looking down. “Although a chance to officially do good is appealing; also financial support would be great… But I deserve none of this.”  
“Wouldn’t you face a trial if you refuse?”  
“I would.”  
“They’ll have you hang if you go to a trial. You are more useful to the world alive, don’t you think?”

There was a silence when Siris gave back the medallion. _Ser Thom Rainier, Knight-Errant of the Divine_. It sounded nice. Also, the man was already, more or less, doing what a Knight-Errant do before Siris met him. If he accepts the responsibility, he would have support, thus would be more efficient.  
The fire crackle a bit waking the two from their thoughts.

“Do you think I should accept?” Rainier wondered.  
“Does my opinion matter?” Siris asked in return. The idea of a human asking for her opinion felt strange.  
“Yes, it does. It will also help me make up my mind.”  
“Then I think you should accept.” Siris said. “What did Emma say?”  
“She ordered me to accept and practically frightened me to curse me with hair loss if I refused.”

Siris couldn’t stop a chuckle. That did sound like something Emma would say.

They talked a bit more, about the pros and cons of being a knight-errant. The main cons being that he refused, Rainier will be a head shorter. Then the discussion went back to Siris. What will she do now? Rainier was task with bringing her to Ostwick, but the woman was free to go wherever she wanted. In truth, none of them could tell if going to the Circle will help figure out what happened when the Darkspawn attack. Moreover, now that she knew she was not blighted, Siris felt particularly tired of big human cities and could no longer find reasons to remain in one. While resting those last six days, she daydreamed about a quiet place only for her. She wanted to grow her food, make her things –for herself; not someone else. It would be hard work, but a rewarding one. She wanted to be away from politics and troubles.

“Well… I would suggest going to Ferelden. Since the Blight, the place is rather calm. If you don’t mind dogs and a bit of cold, then the forest might be a good place to start your new life.”

A forest in Ferelden. Siris tried to imagine it. In Tevinter, she used to live in the middle of a sandy desert; quite the opposite of what Rainier was talking about. However, she liked the idea a great deal. Yet she could not just leave without warning: she needed (and had) to thank Knight-Captain Cullen, Hawke and visit Emma at Ostwick. In the planning, Rainier decided to accept the deal with the Chantry, then escort Siris to her new home –wherever it was.

As the two friends watch the fire burning in the fireplace, they felt that a second chance in life was happening for the both of them. Despite the unknown of the future being terrifying, Siris and Rainier could not stop from being curious.

If only they knew of the trials that were waiting them…


	9. Not all Templars are good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for Siris to leave Kirkwall, but there is one last thing that needs to be done.

By the time Siris was ready to leave, Lady Hawke had gone into another adventure. It was best not to ask what she was doing; even better: never ask when she’ll might be back. Mr Feddic promised to give the thank-you letter from the elf (written by Ser Rainier). Siris also wanted to thank Guard-Captain Aveline for letting her enter the City in the first place; but apparently the woman had left with Hawke and Fenris.  
The duo decided to go to the Gallows: there was a Knight there who needed to be thanked. On their way to the docks, Siris could feel the looks on her. Elves were following her every moves. She recognized some of them.

When Hawke took Siris under her wing, the idea was of course to get the elf back on her feet in no time, but it was also to ward her from harm. Some people in the alienage blamed the former slave for the torture of their woman; some even though Geron and his family were citizen of Kirkwall. When word broke out that a Tevinter Magister captured and tortured elves while looking for a slave; Siris became the target of many. A husband, a daughter, a mother... Only the title of Hawke could scare them off. Now, the only thing keeping them at bay was the armed presence of Rainier at her side.

“Ignore them.” He said. “They won’t acknowledge the truth even if it hit them square in the jaw.”

Siris made no comment. She was glad when Rainier secured passage of the Circle, helped her in the boat and turned her back to the City as she sat down. The Templar rowing reminded them of the rules inside the Circle. They were to remain calm at all times. The weapons had to be left at the gates. No sudden moves. No loud noises. They had to respect the Templars and obey orders. They were not allowed to speak with the mages nor the Tranquils.

“What’s a Tra-n-qu-il ?” Whispered Siris.  
“A mage whose powers have been removed.” Rainier answered, with the same tone. “They a bit creepy, but harmless as far as I know.”

They were a hundred and more rules to follow, all imposed by the Knight-Commander Meredith. When Rainier started to chat with the Templar, the lad muttered that this was all very ridiculous. Most mages were peaceful folks, many were children. In his opinion, making the Circle homier would only encourage the mages to stay; not to escape.

“If the Knight-Captain was in charge, things would be better around here.” He mumbled; then realized he said it out loud. “Please to tell anyone I said that.”  
“No worries.” Rainier said. “We don’t plan on stating.”  
“Leaving Kirkwall?” The Templar said. “I can’t blame you. Where to?”  
“Ostwick.”  
“I wish I could be transfer in Ostwick. Word is it’s peaceful there.”

Siris heard that before, from Emma’s letter. Could she consider living there? That would mean living in an alienage. It was probably better than being a slave, yet the elf wanted better for her life.

They arrived at the Circle. As soon as they set foot on solid ground, the Templars confiscated Rainier’s weapons and Siris’ shoulder bag. Only then they were escorted in the courtyard. The place was terrifying. It reminded Siris of Tevinter: not a good thing. As expected, there were mages around, but not as much as she thought.

“Knight-Captain Cullen is standing over there. Make it quick, elf.” Spat one of the Templars, pointing at another man in full armor on the over side of the courtyard.

Rainier decided to stay behind, leaving Siris to her quest.

The elf mustered her courage then walked straight at the man. Each step was marked by thoughts: what should I tell me? How do I address a Templar from the south? Don’t make a fool of yourself, Siris! Why am I doing this? When she finally arrived on the over side of the courtyard, a trail of people wanted to question the Knight-Captain. What do you mean I can’t visit my sister? Why are mages free to walk around like this? Can’t we make them all Tranquils? Siris waited a bit; until the man noticed her.

“Alright! That’s enough! Go back to your lives!” He exclaimed, chasing all the visitors away.

Siris stayed where she was, not sure of what to do. The Knight made it easy for her as he walked towards the elf. He was tall –then again, Siris was small thus every human seemed tall to her. His armor gave him an impressive stature. He had blond hair, a goatee and his skin was as white as snow. On his upper lip was a brand-new injury, a cut still held together with stitches. He looked a bit odd with such thing on his lip; and it couldn’t feel comfortable at all. Despite that, there was a certain tenderness in his eyes… accentuated by a sudden awkwardness on his part.

“Hawke told me you might come visit.” He said. “How are you doing?”  
“She said that?”  
“Yes. One of her adventures took her here this morning.”  
“Is that why you have this on you lip?” Siris asked. She had heard Hawke could sometimes be a bit… ‘direct’.  
“Wha—? No.” He quickly answered. He had the reflex his reach for his injury then thought better than touch it. “A mage escaped after summoning demons with his blood. Rage demons can be tricky to fight.”  
“And the mage?” Siris wondered. “Is he dead?”  
“We don’t kill mages on principle, although this one surely deserved it.”

Cullen pointed at a man next to the stairs. He was looking at something far beyond the walls of the Circle; sitting still. Too still. Was that a sun tattoo on his forehead?

“Is he… alright? He looks… hum… semotus? Far away?” Siris asked, stumbling on vocabulary.

Cullen was first a bit puzzled by the word she pronounced, but eventually had a little smile. It disappeared when he looked at the man again.

“He was made Tranquil. I suppose you could say he is distant: his connection to the Fade has been severed, thus part of who he was is no longer here, in this world.”  
“My friend told me what a Tra-n-qu-il is on our way here, but I’m still not sure to understand. We don’t have Tra-n-qu-il-z in Tevinter.”

She almost surprised a laugh from Cullen; but he was keeping his composure remarkably well despite his amusement. Had she asked what he thought was funny, she would have known that the man finds her accent, and efforts to pronounce words she did not know, quite delightful. But she did not, in fact, asked him, thus remained puzzled by his reaction.

“I could explain it to you, but I’m pretty sure you did not come here for a lecture.” He said, smiling. “If you are interested, I can recommend a few books: On Tranquility and the Role of the Fade in Human Society, by First Enchanter Josephus; and In Pursuit of Knowledge: The Travels of A Chantry Scholar, by Brother Genitivi.”

Siris put those titles in a corner of her brain. She was definitely interested. The Tranquils around her were a strange sight, and she needed to understand what was going on in their heads.  
Siris needed to go back to the reason which pushed her to visit the Circle of Magi.

“I came to thank you.” She said.

The Knight seemed puzzled for a moment, then looked a bit suspicious. Not overly on guard, but he was obviously waiting for a bad thing to happen. Because of that look, Siris felt the urgent need to explain herself.

“Lady Hawke told me you were the one who led the rescue.” She quickly added. “And although I don’t really remember any of it, I know you tried your best to reassure me –I think. Whatever, you saved my life. My friends told me I should thank you—I mean, that it is okay to thank a human Templar in the South… Or… Hum… is it, okay?”  
“Su—Sure! I mean, yes, it is. I’m sorry.” Cullen spluttered. “It’s not often that elves—anyone for that matter—come to acknowledge our work. I’m… grateful, I suppose? I mean… you are welcome.”

A tall woman in full armor interrupted the discussion. She was a blond middle-age human with some sort of crown on her head. Immediately upon noticing her standing there, Cullen saluted her, saying ‘Knight-Commander’. Siris remembered her name being Meredith. The Knight-Commander was either the most famous or infamous public face in all Kirkwall. Everybody knew her name or soon would. But from all the stories Siris had heard about the templar woman, none did her justice: Meredith was terrifying. Her presence was crushing. For a moment, Siris felt the sweat on her forehead, like when her master was made at something back in Tevinter. The look she gave to everyone –even Cullen—was one that trusted nothing, no one, and certainly not strangers. She as intelligent, paranoiac and extremely dangerous. The elf felt ridiculously small next to next. She even made a few small steps backwards, just in case.

“Your duties made you do strange thing, Knight-Captain.” She said. “I understand you’ve been talking to this… person… for quite some time know. Is the courtyard really that secured?”  
“Yes, Knight-Commander, it is.” Ser Cullen replied with severity. “I merely attending to the social aspect of our sacred mission, by informing this woman of our role in society.”  
“Doesn’t she already know?”  
“She’s formerly from Tevinter, Knight-Commander. The Chantry there do not work the same way as ours; thus, the Templars do not share the same roles as us. We rescued her a few days ago from the Magister in the docks.”

The Knight-Commander studied Siris from head to toe; crushing her even more with her imposing aura.

“So you’re the elf who brought the filth into the city.” She slowly said, grandstanding.  
“Knight-commander?” Called out Cullen.

Siris said nothing, her life in Tevinter forbid her to do so. However, conscious she could do as she pleased, the elf gave a look and half a smile to Cullen then left before the Knight-Captain could say anything. Her steps were hasted: she did not want to spend another second in Meredith’s company and the woman was not going to just leave. The elf felt furious and awkward. She liked her conversation. When she reached Rainier, she made it clear she did not want to talk. They went back to the boat, got their things back then left.


	10. On The King's Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After several month learning about the South in Ostwick, Siris leaves Emma to her studies to go in Ferelden, in the hope of finding a place to call 'home'.

It was barely morning when the boat landed on solid ground. Siris left it fast, not wanting to be in one ever again. The Waking Sea was one hellish place to be. Now, the elf was standing on the land of Ferelden. She crossed Thedas from North to South. It was official. If things did not go as well as plan, then at least she could congratulate herself on this no so small accomplishment.  
It has been weeks since she left Ostwick. Her bag was filled with books, food, clothes and other objects of first necessities. She held on a bit tighter to the leather strap across her chess. Emma made it for her: it was bigger in the inside! It could contain whatever she wanted, as long as it was not alive. The bag was a gift, from a friend: its wonderful ability had no value next to that.

“You’ll be alright?” Shouted one of the sailors.

She simply waved at them and went further inland, disappearing in the forest of the Storm Coast. When she arrived in Ostwick, Siris understood she could not set off to build a new life without knowing the basic. For six months she studied star charts, modern Common, Orlesian dialect, Southern traditions and habits. She learnt a great deal of cooking recipes, how to make proper clothes, how to make basic weapons, how to repair small things around the house. She learnt how to kill an animal and prepare it for food and crafting. She even learnt a few survival tricks and fighting moves with Rainier before he had to leave for his newly found quest. Siris was not a warrior, but she had better chances now. What came to pass in Kirkwall will not happen again; this she swore on her life.

Several weeks later, not wishing to abuse the Circle’s hospitality, Siris left Ostwick to embark for Ferelden.  
Siris was planning on walking to Crestwood, then decide there where to go next. Walking on solid ground, by the way, felt very strange after so long at sea. Emma had told her all about Ferelden, since she was born there. Crestwood was a bit boring, but Redcliff was apparently quite nice; so were the Hinterlands. If Siris really wanted to be lonely, she could always go further South, to Ostagar, in the Korcari Wilds. Despite being the scene of the first terrible Darkspawn attack during the Blight, the ground was still salvageable for growing plants. Although Siris had learnt from her life in Tevinter that the only way to be sure was to watch the birds. When they touch something, then the Blight sickness was no longer active.  
Anyway, she needed to get to Crestwood first: she needed to stock up on food.

The welcome she had at the tavern of New Crestwood was as great as she could expect from people living in the middle of nowhere with only one elf in the village. In over words: not so great. Between the “knife-ear” and “we don’t serve dalish!”, Siris had a world of trouble to make the barman understand she was not, in fact, a Dalish. At some point, she simply let go and tried her luck elsewhere. She was not going to live in Crestwood, that was for certain. Not only the people were not particularly polite, but the fort and the sunken Old Crestwood casted a worrisome shadow on the region. The elven woman found a farmer, who seemed willing to trade. He and his son looked like decent folks: they worried about a lone young woman traveling alone and offer to give at the very least a knife to defend herself. She politely refused: Rainier already gave her a small weapon and it was of a much better quality. But the man insisted on offering some kind for service.

“My son will walk you to the King’s road up North, around the fort and the Dragon.”  
“Dragon?”  
“Yes, she settled not far from here.” The farmer said. “She stays away for now, but with those creatures, you never know when they’ll get to their heads to come closer to the village.”

The young boy led Siris outside of the village in a rather physical walk in the hills. The farmer was right about the Dragon who was fly around the area. He was also right about the bandits plaguing the region. But thanks to his son careful lead, Siris moved past them without trouble. When they arrived at the stairs of the King’s Road, the elf turned to the boy.

“You’ll be alright?”

He nodded.

“Take this, as a thanks.”

She gave him a small sack of elfroot seeds. It was barely a hundredth of her stocks; but she knew it would be appreciated by the farmer. Not having to scout the hills for medicinal plants was a luxury few could have in the region. The boy took the small sack, smiled and wished Siris good luck. Then ran back home.

The elf climbed the stairs and looked at the direction. Left: Denerim. Right: Redcliff. Right it was! Siris had no wish to end up in another big city.

Fives days on the King’s Road. Fives uneventful days when the elf cross-pathed with a caravan of merchant, a dwarven family and two humans moving goods towards Denerim. The most impressive thing she encountered were a group of soldiers from the royal army going back to the palace.

At some point, she came across an intersection. Right: Orzammar. Left: Lake Calendal via Circle of Magi. The choise was somewhat difficult. On one hand Siris was curious about the only remaining dwarven city in Thedas; on the other hand, she wanted to see the place where Lady Caravel (Emma) lived before the Blight. From Emma’s letter, it was also where Knight-Captain Cullen had served… She had to admit some curiosity about the Templar. For someone who, according to Emma, has a profound fear and hatred of Magic, he never gave the mages any harsh punishment; unlike some other Templars. Apparently, there was a time the man was even sympathetic to the mages suffering… What could have happened for him to no longer feel the same way towards his wards? The elf stopped her thoughts. To ask questions about Emma was fine: the woman encouraged her to meet her former colleagues. But to wander about the Circle for some clues about the Knight-Captain Cullen was simply creepy.

Siris started to walk towards Orzammar… Then turned around and follow the path to the Circle. She was definitely going to learn more about her friend, and _nothing more_.

The Lake Calendal was quite beautiful with the sun light shining on the surface of the water. However, Siris did not expect to see a giant gloomy tower right in the middle of it. The road was making a tight turn when the tower showed itself. People lived in there ? Really? The Circle Tower was huge, but did not seem to get any closer, even after a day walking in its direction. It was only after another day of travel that the building seemed to get bigger. The King’s Road became at some point a cross path, but the path leading directly to the Circle was broken. On the shore, a templar was talking to what looked to be a ferryman. Siris walked down to them.

“What is it, elf?” The Templar wondered.  
“How can I get to the tower?” She asked.  
“What for? You’re a mage? Your clan doesn’t want you?”

Siris gave him a look. He was young, a recruit, and that’s fine. But obviously, being a Templar does not stop young men to be stupid. She did not look like a mage, could not cast a spell if her life depended on it and although the marking on her face looked like dalish, they were far from the real thing. However, since the Tempalr was too ‘inexperienced’ to do his job properly, Siris had to give him an answer.

“When was the last time a mage asked to be locked in there? Especially after the event during the Blight?” She wondered.

Emma had told her about the unfortunate event of Ferelden Circle of Magi during the Blight. Although there was not much of details, since Emma was on the ground floor when the attack occurred, Siris understood the attack was brutal and senseless: a massacre. Apparently, the Circle had attracted the Chantry’s attention, thus the tower became a difficult place to live in. No mage in his/her right mind would want to live here. The mages knew it, the civilians knew it, the Templar knew it.

“I’m here on behalf of Enchanter Emma Caravel, who used to live here.”  
“Miss Caravel?” The ferryman interrupted. “I remember her. Such a lovely lady! How is she doing?”  
“When I left Ostwick, she was fine. I have a message for her friends here.” Siris said. “She asked me to give it to the the Knight-Commander in person.”

It was not a lie. Lady Caravel gave the letter to Siris hoping her feet would eventually find the path for the Circle. Although the mage gave to the Templars in Ostwick the dog tags of the Templars who gave up their lives to escort her to safety, she did not feel it was right to let it at that. The escort was from Ferelden Circle, the Knight-Commander’s men.

“Fine! I get it! But don’t make me regret this!” The young Templar shouted, while letting her access the ferryman’s boat.

Siris climbed in, followed by the old human. For someone of his age, he had a lot of energy.

“Don’t mind the lad.” He said while roaming. “He’s knew and thinks highly of himself. The Knight-Commander is a more reasonable sort, I promise.”  
Siris hoped so.

They arrived at the Circle and the elf was greeted by more Templars. The Knight-Captain asked the reasons of her visit, she told him what he needed to ear. He made her wait in the entry room. Templars were watching all the doors. Another one was working with a worker from the Chantry, counting boxes. Another one was registering Siris visit in a book. Another one was telling a recruit how useless he was, while another experienced Templar was trying to reason with his colleague.  
The door giving access to the Tower opened and a Knight entered, stopped, looked for someone, spotted Siris and gestures her to follow her. She Led the elf threw a series of long curvy corridors and endless stairs. The elf had a quick view of the life inside the Tower, but did not dare make the Knight wait.

“The Knight-Commander is busy but gave his authorization: you can talk to the First Enchanter in his office.” She said, opening a door. “You have an hour.”

Siris walking in. The office was large. The walls where covered with shelves of books and magic circles drawn on paper with explanation written on the side. Four Templars were quietly surveilling one man, who was sitting behind a large desk. He looked up and noticed the small elf standing in the middle of the room, feeling a bit out of place.

“Welcome.” He said. “I am First Enchanter Irvin. I understand you have something for the Knight-Commander?”  
“Yes, sir.”

As Siris understood it, the First Enchanter could be given letters meant for the Knight-Commander as long as the mail was sealed. Apparently, the Knight-commander and his Captain were performing a Harrowing with many other high-ranking officers. Thus, Irvin was on delivery-duty.  
She opened her bag and looked for the letter. Emma gave it to her before she left. Although Siris did not have to deliver it, she had the opportunity to do so. She finally found it. It was a paper carefully folded and sealed. She gave it to the mage who carefully put it on the cleanest part on his desk.

“I understand this comes from Emma?”  
“Yes, sir.””  
“How is she?”  
“Fine, as far as I know.” Siris answered. “She used to live here, right?”  
“Yes.” Irvin said. “Loved by everyone, as I’m sure you can imagine.”  
“Quite easily, sir.” Siris smiled. “I did not have to deliver it, she said. But I was in the area.”  
“What brought you here?”  
“Freedom. I’m looking for a place to make roots.”  
“I would give you some recommendation, if I did not live most my life here. If you are staying at the inn on the dock, then I could ask someone to look in the book and send you suggestion.”  
“That’s kind of you, sir.” Siris said. “It won’t be necessary. I’ll find my way.”  
The door opened behind Siris and a tall man in full armor came in.  
“Pardon the intrusion.” He said. “I understand you have something for me?”  
“Knight-Commander.” Irvin mumbled. “Yes, here it is.”

The templar walked to the desk and took the letter the Enchanter was giving him. He thanked him, looked at the writing. It was definitely for him. He turned the letter and broke the seal.

Then everything exploded.


	11. What smiles don't tell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After unknowingly delivering a deadly weapon in the form of a letter, Siris has time to think. What on Earth happened?

One day, Siris swore, the world will leave her alone. One day. As she tried the chains around her ankles and wrist, the elf listed all the fucked-up situations she has been in since birth:

  * Born in slavery.
  * Cleaning the sperm off the body of the slaves of her first master’s house.
  * Cleaning the blood of a slave of the floor of her first master’s house.
  * Moving the body of a deceived lover of her master to burry him in the desert.
  * Lying to her master to save her skin, punishing another for her mistakes.
  * Poisoning her master’s daughter for making fun of her, rending the poor noble girl brainless.
  * Serving poison food and wine to an entire family coming to her master’s for diner.
  * Being sold by her first master to the second, his nephew.
  * Listening to her second master terrible poetry for hours.
  * Listening to her second master grunts while trying to satisfy his wife.
  * Cooking a qunari’s genitals because her master thought it would help him in his wife’s bed (without success, of course).
  * Cleaning the vomit of her master after he ate the damn thing.
  * Being beat up for not cooking the thing well.
  * Cooking another qunari’s genitals.
  * Cleaning the vomit.
  * Receiving a beating.
  * Being sold to her third and last Master.
  * Being tortured by Tevinter mages bitches, daughters of her master.
  * Being locked up in a library for two weeks without seeing the light of day once; to study ancient elven writings.
  * Walking around with only a jute hessian potato bag to cover her body.
  * Chopping down the bodies of the killed slaves to give the pieces to the dogs.
  * Putting glass shards in the meat to kill the damn things.
  * Blaming another slave who was making her life worst; the man was tortured for hours during a party, for the master’s friends’ pleasure.
  * Receiving fifty whiplash because she made a translation mistake.
  * Having her wrists cuts every two weeks for blood rituals.
  * Being locked in the cellar for four days without food nor water, because she sneezed.
  * Crossing the desert bare foot and somehow managed to survive it.
  * Surviving –Maker knows how!—a Darkspawn attack.
  * Surviving her first days of freedom.
  * Helping one of the most hated criminals in Thedas fight bandits.
  * Discovering she does not, in fact, have the Blight sickness.
  * Being kidnapped and tortured by her former master’s friend.
  * Being escorted by a criminal (who’s to become a knight) to Ostwick after one awkward conversation with a Templar.
  * Spending quality time with her friend Emma in the Circle of Ostwick.
  * Being betrayed by Emma.
  * Unwillingly killed two templars.
  * Being locked up in Ferelden Circle of Magi’s prison, thanks to Emma.



Her life was such a mess. There was so many things wrong with her past that Siris had lost count of them.Her life was but a string of bad luck and terrible events.

Yet, what could possibly be worst? Templars going rogue, Mages rebelling, demons everywhere and a hole in the sky. Now that would be worst. Such thing would be, of course, completely impossible but it would definitely be a lot worse than anything the elf could think off. Although… Give her enough time, which she had, and Siris could come up with the odd idea that an ancient elven god was responsible for this hypothetical hole in the sky. It could always happen. It won’t, but it could.

Now, where did she heard that phrase?

Thinking of catastrophic scenarios was a way to keep her mind from thinking about what happened three days ago. Emma gave her a trap in the form of a letter, to give to a Knight-Commander in active duty. Why on Earth would she do such thing? Why would she do such things to Siris? The more the elf thought about it, the more bitter she felt and the greater her need to crush Emma’s head against a wall was. Maker only could know what would happen to the mage; Siris was more interested in her own fate.

“Kaffas.” She let out once more.

Her being Tevinter did not help at all. Anyone with a bit of imagination would immediately go to the conclusion that the explosion was a Tevinter attack, a dare to spit on the Southerners’ beliefs.

Her being an elf did not help at all neither. Any human in Thedas once had a thought that elves are the worse of the worse, born violent, murderers, thieves. Terrorists would only be another adjective added to the list.

Did the Knight-commander Graegoir and First Enchanter Irvin survived? Yes. Thanks to one of the other Templar quick reaction: she had dispelled part of the spell, making the explosion less deadly. Although everyone in the room suffered injuries. Siris was no exception. She had used her hands to protect herself from the blast: burns curled around her arms up to the elbows. Her head hit the door behind her; it flew in pieces. Siris landed on the wall further away, knocking her unconscious. Now that she was awake –and in chains—the elven woman had the greatest headache of her life and she was pretty sure that at least one rib was broken.

How did this happen? How did she not see it coming? What did she miss? The elf tried to focus on the letter. The grains of it were average for the Circle. It smelled normal. Thus no oil nor chemicals were used. It had to be magic. Although Siris had her fair share of experience with magic, she could not guess its presence unless it hits her square in the face. Perhaps a detail on the envelope: a mark, the ink… The elf remembered the beautiful writing of Lady Caravel, spelling the name and title of the Knight-Commander. The ink came from the same bottle Siris used to write her notes on Ferelden and Orlesian customs. And those did not explode.

The Knight-Commander… Why him? Emma was apparently friends with everybody here; but did it include the Templars? She seemed to like Ser Cullen, however it could be an act. Why the Knight-Commander? When she was in Ferelden, did the man do something to her? Or on the contrary did nothing when she needed it? Was there something between them? Perhaps it wasn’t the Knight-Commander the target but the First Enchanter? Or perhaps it was simply a political act on Emma’s part: a mage who wants her freedom or revenge at any cost. Then why would she go willingly in the wolf’s den by going in Ostwick Circle of Magi? Who was Emma? Where did her true self finished and where did the lie started? Were they one and the same or two distinct persons? Did she want to lie to Siris? What would Rainier do if he learns about what happen?

Siris’ headache only grew worst by thinking about all this. In the end, there were only questions and no answers.

The elf felt angry, at the world, at Emma, at herself. To be fooled so easily by a human; right after finding her freedom… Emma’s smile. Siris wondered if it wasn’t what fooled her. The woman seemed so nice, so polite, so respectful. She smiled a lot. In the end, Siris was just another elf who got manipulated, used and discarded when no longer needed. A one-use only tool, since there was no way in the world the Order of Templars, the Circle of Magi, the Southern Chantry nor Ferelden rulers would let Siris go after what happened. She had delivered a bomb. She had been made an accomplice to a terrorist attack, a crime, an attempt of mass murder.  
Siris was not entirely against killing one person as long as it deserved it. But a group? Without reason? Who could do that and think it’s fine?

One day the world will let Siris be. One day. But not today.

She heard a key in a lock. Then a woman entered the prison.


	12. What is the worst that could happen?

The woman was a stern lady in heavy armor. She imposed respect just by standing quietly in the room. Her eyes inspected every detail in the prison, from Siris’ appearance to the guards’ spotless armor and haircut.  
“You’re not a mage.” She said.  
The elf said nothing. It was not a question. Also, she did not want to speak. Silence was a small vestige of her freedom.  
“The Knight-Commander told me you were sent by a former enchanter of this Circle. Is this true?”  
“She did not tell me to come, my Lady.” Siris said, before quickly adding: “She said that if I was in the area, I could give them a message from her, for old time sake.”  
In the name of precision, Siris gave up her silence. _Kaffas…_ She thought.  
The woman looked at her carefully. She was obviously urging for violence but kept herself in check. Was she conscious beating up a prisoner, especially Siris, was useless? Or maybe she simply did not find a good reason to be violent.  
“What proof can you give me?” She asked.  
“I have nothing but my word, my Lady.” Siris said.  
She gave it gladly, by telling the tale of her meeting with Lady Caravel; how she escaped Kirkwall and found refuge at Ostwick Circle, where the mage was leaving.  
“Is she still there?”  
“You are more capable than I for answering this question, my Lady.” Siris said.  
It was true: Siris left Ostwick months ago. If the Circle of Magi were as lawful as they should be, Caravel should still be there, alive and well. Or perhaps she escaped, killed everybody or simply was sent in another Circle. No matter where she was, the Elf could not help but think about her manipulative ways. How many people did she trap in her machination? How many people did she killed by proxy? How many people escaped her deadly claws? Since the Templars seemed to be surprised by Caravel’s crimes, Siris was guessing that no one in the first Enchanter’s office should have survived. Yet, not only did the First Enchanter and the Knight-Commander survived, but three Templars and the courier –Siris— avoided death too.  
The woman left quickly after that answer.

A week later, two Templars entered the prison and escorted Siris out of the Tower.  
“Your free but unwelcomed.” One of them said once across the lake. “Don’t come ba—”

He stopped when the ground started the shake. Siris looked at her feet, the ground around it, the water. People from the tavern went outside. Thunder clashed. Siris fell on the ground with the rest when the shaking became impossible to bare. One of the Templars forced Siris to keep her head down. A piece of the circle tower fell in the Lake. A loud explosion. The noise was like having a thousand huge bells, like in Minrathous, ringing without harmony in your brain. Her ears started to bleed, her heart raced, her body shake as terror took over her mind. There was a sensation in the back of her head she knew and learnt to fear. She looked up when the ground stopped shaking. A templar guard on the bridge shouted and pointed at the sky.  
“That’s where the Temple is!” Cried a woman next to Siris.  
She looked at the sky… There was a hole in it, spitting demons.  
“ _Vishante kaffas…!_ ” She swore.


End file.
